Just stumbled upon this piece, one in a series of excellent essays the NYRB‘s always engaging Tony Judt is putting out, even while suffering from the ravages of ALS
Indian food made me more English. Like most Englishmen of my generation I now think of takeout or delivered Indian food as a native dish imported centuries before. I am English enough to think of Indian food in particular as an aspect of England that I miss here in the US where Chinese is the ethnic dish of local preference. But my Englishness also leads me to miss East European Jewish cuisine in its very slightly adapted British form (a little more boiling, a little less spice than Jewish cooking here in the US). I can work up a nostalgia for fish and chips, but in truth it is nothing more than a self-generated gastronomic Heritage Exercise. We hardly ever ate the stuff when I was a child. Were I ever truly to set out in Search of Past Taste I would begin with braised beef and baked turnip, followed by chicken tikka masala and pickled wollies swabbed in challah, Kingfisher beer and sweet lemon tea. As for the madeleine that would trigger the memory? Naan dunked in matzoh ball soup, served by a Yiddish-speaking waiter from Madras. We are what we ate. And I am very English.
Apart from worthy analogue of Indian food in England to Chinese food in the US, this is simply a masterful piece of writing, and a useful reminder that it wouldn’t hurt to double down my efforts to think critically (and write) about the interface between food, culture, and memory. Or simply to note that there’s an aching divide between the alt-weekly pieces I turn out, and writing like Judt’s. (As I note while procrastinating on a story about the first cheesesteak in India.)
Yet Another Guy Writing About Food 
Aaron said
I’m sorry, did you say “first cheesesteak in India?” As in, the first one you’ve had there, or the very first one ever? And is it made with paneer?
Dan said
Apparently it’s been on and off the menu at Not Just Jazz by the Bay here since they opened up 14 years ago. I can’t verify my claim that they’re first. But since I haven’t uncovered another one here in Bombay (which, as a city is more beef friendly than Delhi), I have to assume that they were the first (and probably still the only one.)
It seemed to be made with what’s packaged here as “pizza cheese”– pretty unctuous stuff. For the full story, you’ll have to wait for next Wednesday’s City Paper.
James said
These pieces by Tony Judt are astonishing.
Dan said
“Astonishing” is a good word. I was glad to find one remotely connected to the blog’s theme here so could comment on it.
Dad said
Dan, I’m almost ashamed to say that I briefly skimmed the three separate
Judt pieces (there were two others dealing with other aspects of his life).
Another example of the tree growing very far from the apple (Jonathan, Rome,
Fuji or others). Dad